


when there's no more chlorine to our hair

by nitorisource



Category: Free!
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-15 23:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nitorisource/pseuds/nitorisource
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After they move in together, Sousuke notices his boyfriend smells like fresh laundry; often. Homebody Makoto does laundry to relax, enjoying it very much. One bonus is a very clean house and maybe snuggles. The stench of chlorine is a thing of the past and Sousuke is too wrapped up in Makoto to dwell. Fabric softener, soft scents, warmth--it becomes a smell so unique to Makoto it makes Sousuke homesick whenever Makoto is away. Sousuke even catches himself clutching shirts and blankets, inhaling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> perfect words from perfect tumblr anon  
> I had a feeling they were from the same person, thank you so much for the cute headcanons ahh

“Do you need help with any of that?” Sousuke calls, leaning out of the door and into the biting winter air. He feels himself begin to warm just at the sight of Makoto’s beaming smile as the brunet briskly jogs up the stairs with a laundry basket in his arms. Sousuke takes it from his hands and sets it on their dining table, one of their small practiced motions, as Makoto pulls off his beanie and shrugs out of his heavy winter coat, a delighted sigh escaping his lips at their heated apartment.

“Help me fold these?” he asks, despite the fact that they’ve been living together long enough so he doesn’t need to ask anymore and that Sousuke is already taking out one of the large, king-sized sheets from the basket. He allows himself to relish in the straight-out-of-the-dryer warmth that envelopes his fingers before he fumbles around for two of the corners, and Makoto does the same.

He likes this, the strange, innocent intimacy of doing nothing more than folding sheets together, the two of them smiling faintly as they shake it out roughly between them before moving their hands towards one another to fold it in half. It’s a motion that makes Sousuke, though he’d never voice this thought aloud, think about ballroom dancing. Sousuke is always the one that passes his corners off to Makoto, and he grabs the bottom ends so that they can fold it in half again, until it’s compact enough for Makoto to press together on his own while Sousuke grabs the next one.

The days Makoto does laundry are probably some of Sousuke’s favorite because of the way it fills the house up with that welcoming, warm and cottony smell, and because it’s always nice to slip beneath freshly washed and dried sheets at the end of the day. He’s not sure if maybe it’s just the soap or fabric softener that Makoto uses, but it’s gotten to the point that Sousuke misses that clean and crisp smell that comes off of their sheets, their clothes - mostly from Makoto.

Makoto says he does it just to relax - and it’s much easier to work in a home as spotless as he ensures it is - which Sousuke doesn’t really understand. For him, it stresses him out to wonder just how much soap is too much, or if he’s supposed to separate lights and darks, or why it is that their shirts shrink only when he tries to wash them.

He has no reason whatsoever to complain, of course, especially since Makoto has a tendency to snuggle up against him after he’s tired himself out washing half a dozen loads on his own. His hands are always very warm, and he carries around the meadowy scent from whatever detergent he’s using, which makes Sousuke think of flowers, like the ones that Makoto so delicately arranges and cares for, and he’ll bury his face into the top of Makoto’s head, which is pleasantly chlorine-free and smells instead of lemon and mint, while the sleepy brunet wraps his arms around Sousuke’s chest. The absence of chlorine always gives him a strange longing feeling somewhere inside him, though it’s easy to overlook when he’s so thoroughly content with Makoto in his arms like this.

 

“You’re leaving tomorrow morning?” Sousuke asks with a frown.

“Yes. Just two days and one night, remember?” Makoto says, removing his glasses setting his book down against his chest so that he can shift up in Sousuke’s embrace to give that frown a kiss.

Of course Sousuke remembers. There’s no way he’d forget that his boyfriend would be leaving him for the weekend. He knows he has no room to be selfish since he’s had Makoto practically all to himself since they’ve moved in, and all he’s doing is visiting his grandparents and family for the weekend. He even offered Sousuke a chance to go along with him, but he politely declined since he was sure Ren and Ran would want quality time with their big brother, anyway.

“It’ll go by quickly. You’ll hardly miss me.” He’s gotten better at reading his boyfriend so Sousuke doesn’t need to say it aloud, but his expression clearly gives off the idea of just how much he dislikes spending time from Makoto.

Again, he’s got no place to be selfish. Besides, he’s a big boy, an adult, and there’s no reason he can’t survive a few measly days on his own.

The next morning, he tells this to himself as he sticks his hands into his pockets, fingers already missing Makoto’s twined through them, and watches the train carry his boyfriend away.

 

Maybe he should have chosen a different weekend off of work.

It takes him hours to fall asleep that night after a day of literally doing nothing on his own since the weather outside won’t permit him to leave the comfort of his apartment. As much as he would like to go for a jog or maybe hit the gym, he’s certain frostbite will set in before he can make it too far out.

Which leaves him with few distractions.

The apartment truly feels empty, and somewhat colder, without the warmth of Makoto’s presence. He starts to regret making the decision against adopting a cat like Makoto had suggested a few months ago, thinking that even having a furball like that around the house would have been better than this.

So he ends up sleeping on Makoto’s side of the bed, inhaling the remnants of lemon and mint scented shampoo on the pillowcase.

He’s got little incentive to get out of bed the next morning, especially since he’s so lovingly wrapped up in the warm, flower-smelling blanket, but he eventually hauls his ass out of bed sometime before noon. After all, Makoto is supposed to come home this evening and he wants to try - try, try, try his damn best, despite how cursed his culinary skills might be - at making him a dinner he can enjoy once he’s back.

It’s only after he’s already permanently burned sauce into a few pans that he gets the texts.

_None of the trains are moving out in this weather, so I’ll be later than expected._

_You don’t need to stay up late!_

_It might take another night._

_Sorry. Miss you._

_\- Makoto_

It looks like there’s no need for him to try and buy some carry out meal, and it’s with a heavy heart that he sets about to trying to scrub the charred food remains from everything he’s used to create his failure of a dinner.

The next morning, he’ll be off to work again, and for tonight he’ll have to spend it lonely in bed once more.

He thinks it’s so strange that, a few years ago, he wouldn’t be caught dead pining away after someone like this, but he guesses that this is what happens after you’ve got a taste of the affection, comfort, and and pleasant satisfaction that a relationship can bring; it becomes very difficult to face a sudden lack of it. It’s like he’s going through withdrawals.

After a quick shower, he rifles through his closet for something to wear, noting the jacket that Makoto likes to wear so much before he comes across a shirt that isn’t is.

There is literally no difference whatsoever from this shirt compared to the ones that are his, but somehow, when he brings it to his nose and smells that familiar, clean, cottony smell that he associates so strongly with Makoto, he feels a little more at ease.

That’s how he ends up with the orange and red shirt clasped lightly in his hand that night, and when Makoto quietly arrives in the house after taking the last possible train back, he can’t help but smile at how precious his tough, intimidating boyfriend is when he’s sleeping so peacefully like this.

After a quick shower, he quickly joins Sousuke under the covers, removing his shirt from Sousuke’s fingers and drawing one of the taller man’s arms over himself. Sousuke doesn’t wake up, but his lips turn up slightly as he buries his face into Makoto’s damp hair.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homebody Makoto likes to walk around in his boyfriend's blue jacket. Naked. It's the one thing Makoto doesn't like to wash because it smells like Sousuke. It's a bit baggy on him, and when he presses his face into the blue softness he gets butterflies. Makoto is frequently found in only a pair of glasses and that jacket, and it drives Sousuke crazy~~

It’s nearly three am by the time Sousuke arrives home, which makes it unusual that light is coming not from Makoto’s own room, but from his. He’s already shrugging out of his tight suit jacket and loosening his tie as knocks on the slightly ajar door and he peeks inside.

“Well. That’s unfair,” he mumbles to himself when he takes in the sight of Makoto curled up on his unmade bed with nothing but his skewed glasses and Sousuke’s blue jacket on. A grown six foot tall man should not, in theory, look as adorable as he damn well does in this kind of vulnerable position, especially not with half of his round ass out in the open, and Sousuke has to stifle a chuckle and an overwhelming urge to pinch that ass as he slowly tiptoes into the room.

There’s a half-filled laundry basket in front of the closet and Sousuke can already guess that Makoto was gathering dirty clothes to wash until he came upon the blue jacket, which, since moving in together, has become Makoto’s choice article of clothing to thieve. He didn’t mind at first, but once Makoto got into the habit of walking around just the jacket on, it became difficult to focus on anything else. Even more so when Makoto decided to lounge around with his glasses on while reading a book, naked in his jacket. He’s sure Makoto does this kind of thing to him on purpose.

“I really…. I like the way it smells like you,” he said huffily one day when Sousuke asked him about it. “Especially when you work late.” He really dislikes the days he has to take the train home on his own, which have increased in unfortunate frequency the past several weeks, and sometimes not even doing all the laundry in the house is enough to distract him from missing his boyfriend. However, sometimes, just sitting in Sousuke’s jacket is enough, and he doesn’t know how to possibly describe the warm, butterfly-like feeling he gets just from wearing it and remembering the way Sousuke smells.

Right now, the hood’s pulled halfway over Makoto’s mess of brown hair, and it looks like he fell asleep with the collar of it half-covering his nose. He wonders how tired his boyfriend must have been to have fallen asleep just like that.

“Hey, sleepy-head,” Sousuke calls out softly, kneeling beside Makoto’s pleasantly snoozing face.

“Hmm?” the brunet mumbles, jolting awake and pushing himself up. He tries to adjust his glasses properly on his face and then tries to pull the jacket down to cover his crotch, forgetting that it’s all he’s wearing. “I - ahh, Sousuke?”

Amazing. Makoto goes from tranquil and sleeping to embarrassed and deeply blushing in the span of five seconds.

Before he can stammer out some kind of explanation, Sousuke hushes him by pulling Makoto down for a soft kiss, and the brunet groggily smiles as they pull away.

“Welcome home,” he says, cheeks still tainted red.

Sousuke clambers onto the bed, pressing Makoto down onto the mattress, and admires the sleepy, blushy mess below him. He has to admit, this jacket looks enticing on Makoto, as it always does. It hangs a little loosely on his body, and all it takes is lifting the hem up a bit for Sousuke to get a nicer look at the exposed body underneath.

He allows his fingers to wander up Makoto’s abdomen, up his chest, until his fingers hit the nubs of Makoto’s nipples, and he uses his other hand to pull on the collar of his blue jacket so that he can get better access to Makoto’s neck.

“Hey - aren’t you tired?” the brunet asks, though he’s hardly resisting Sousuke’s advances. He squirms under Sousuke’s weight as the fingers begin to twist his nipple, and he lets out a low noise, smiling as he inhales the faint scent of Sousuke’s shampoo, still present even after a whole day of work.

“Take a shower with me after we’re done,” he murmurs into the crook of Makoto’s neck, his hand clumsily reaching up to push the glasses of his face.

If Makoto’s going to wash this jacket anyway, Sousuke doesn’t mind dirtying it tonight.


End file.
